


Wrong Place, Wrong Time

by sunshine_locks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community - HPFT, Gen, al is mildly depressed and knows too many memes, and also hates the press, and i can handle that, and i did it for a challenge, and i think this is a more manageable wip because almost all the chapters are below 2000 words, and like??, harry is vaguely ptsd ridden and tries to cope as best as he can, hopefully it'll be less than ten chapters??, i have ideas, i wrote one a while back, lily is ur angsty teen who is a little sharp around the edges, man this is ur typical time travel fic, this one is like a revamp of that, who knows man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14960342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshine_locks/pseuds/sunshine_locks
Summary: "He thought he would be the last person on earth to be victim to a broken time turner; in fact, he always did think that it was going to James that would get caught up in something as dumb as this. So, naturally it had to be him. And Lily too."For Levana's "Stop Shop and Rework It" Challenge.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> um. enjoy this mess of a first chapter.

Al looked around, curious. The interior of the Ministry, to his utter disappointment, was not interesting in anyway whatsoever. Consisting of shiny glass-like floors, sculptures of war heroes, ornate fountains, and sometimes the occasional stuffy wizard dressed in flowing robes passing by, the Ministry complex wasn’t impressive. Perhaps it was his bias flaring up, having been used to the wear and tear of living in a family of wizards for approximately eighteen years.

“It’s not really much, is it?” Lily asked, disinterested.

Al frowned. “Yeah.” Looking in front of him, he noticed that his Dad was already farther ahead of him, and jogged to catch up, signaling Lily to do so as well.

“C’mon Dad, at least wait for us,” he huffed, out of breath. He really needed to get out more, but he was never feeling good enough to do so. Today was one of the better days, hence him being here in the ministry to accompany Lily.

His Dad smiled. “You’re just slow. Both of you are, actually.”

“Rude,” Lily muttered. “When will this thing be over? I know that we’re supposed to be ‘touring’ so we can know what we’re facing in the Ministry, but I don’t even need to know it!”

Al knew those words held some truth, but as she was an aspiring spell creator, he was sure that being somewhat familiar with the Ministry was necessary.

“Keep your options open, at least,” his Dad chided. “It’s our turn to see the Department of Mysteries, so that’ll be kind of nice.”

“Department of Mysteries? Isn’t that where…?” Al asked, before trailing off, seeing the look on his Dad's face.

He flashed an expression of bitterness, but it disappeared the next second. “Yes.”

Al backed down, and didn’t question any further. It really wasn’t that important to know about in this moment anyways.

As they approached, a dark haired woman was waiting, in the midst of casting a time charm. Her eyes flicked to them, and then she barked, “Potter! You’re late!”

His Dad smiled apologetically, saying, “Sorry, sorry, work came up and I had to delay it a little bit. Hopefully you weren’t waiting long?”

“I know I’m Indian, but you’re lateness makes even us seem tame,” she responded dryly, a hand on her hip.

Al noticed that his Dad’s smile froze in place, unsure of what to say. He looked away, keeping in his snickers. Lily had a better time of it, her lips barely twitching up, though he knew that she thought it was funny as well.

The dark haired woman’s attention turned to him, and her eyes flashed in recognition. Where she had recognized him from, Al was very sure of. “Hello, you must be Albus Potter. I’m Parvati Patil.” She put out her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Al said, smiling perfunctorily. He shook her outstretched hand.

Parvati moved on to Lily, and then gestured for the three of them to follow her. She led them to Level Nine of the Ministry, and as they entered, a chilliness overtook Al, the temperature having gone down a couple of degrees. Al winced at the idea of worsening pains, so he moved closer to Dad, hoping for warmth.

It was infinitely much darker; at least in the atrium, light was in excess, reflecting off of the burnished floors. Tall shelves took up most of the space in the Department of Mysteries, each of them occupied by clouded crystal balls. Al wondered what this room would sound like if he tipped over just one of the shelves.

“What are all the crystal balls for?” Al questioned, but he didn’t receive an answer from Parvati, instead getting a short, “I’m sorry, that’s classified.”

Perhaps that was the wrong question to ask, so maybe he should go for a safer one. “Okay, then, what else is here? What do people do here?”

He received the same answer as before, and he frowned.

Lily let out a sound of frustration, but Al knew it was just the way she was. Almost everything she did was of a forceful nature, and easily irritated, but that didn’t mean it meant harm. “What’s the point of being here otherwise? Hearing James speak about quidditch would be better, and that’s boring as fu—hell!”

His Dad laughed. “That’s not any better, Lily.”

“Sorry,” Parvati apologized, an amused note ringing in her voice, “everything here is confidential.”

“Then we shouldn’t be here at all,” Lily said vehemently, cheeks flaring up in red.

Parvati shrugged. “The Ministry sent the A-okay, and I have a pretty good reason as to why. We usually don’t cooperate with the Ministry, unless we discover something that directly affects them.”

Al shifted, uncomfortable. He knew that his Dad was famous, but having never dealt with the brand of fame his Dad got, he wasn’t sure how to go about it. He was largely unfamiliar with the world his Dad lived in. Lily probably was no better off than he was.

“The safest room is probably the Space Chamber, so we can go see that,” Parvati told them. “In fact, we’re almost there.” She jogged up to the door—something Al was absolutely sure wasn’t there before—and opened it.

Entering it, Al was hit with awe; a better name for the Space Chamber would be ‘The Planetarium’, as it had the entire universe encapsulated within one small room. It was the precise definition of infinite, the planets other worldly and larger than life. Colors of the galaxy assaulted his vision, and the universe moved forward in sync right in front of his eyes. Even Lily had stopped complaining to admire the view.

“Can I explore?” Al asked Parvati.

Thinking it over, seeing no possible danger, she gave him permission to do so.

He ran forward, through the illusion of the universe, pulling Lily along with him in his excitement. His Dad stayed behind, watching Al and Lily in amusement.

Soon enough, they reached the end of the room, approaching a large planet with rings surrounding it.

“That’s Saturn right?” Lily asked, pointing to the planet they were facing.

Al nodded yes.

“Is Pluto here?”

“I mean, it should be. If it’s not, I’m rioting,” Al said. Pluto was a planet and was always ready to fight anyone who said otherwise. The Ministry was no match for him, he knew.

“Let’s search for it,” Lily suggested, taking his hand and dragging him, an excitable glee emanating off of her.

They waded through supernovas, red stars, and some strange planets as well, ones that Al was sure he’d never heard or seen of. As they searched, they neared the edge of the room, and Al caught sight of door, ajar. He looked to Lily, and said, “You think the room continues into the next door? There’s one right there.”

Lily looked curious. “We should go in. It wouldn't hurt, I guess.”

Al tentatively stepped forward, opening the door, making the gap wide enough for him to look in. Seeing nothing, he entered further in, Lily close behind him. More shelves came in view, except they weren’t filled with crystal balls; it looked more like shattered pieces of glass glinting in what little light there was. He could catch the image of hourglasses imprinted in some spaces, and a few glimpses of gold. The room had certainly gathered dust from disuse.

Al stepped closer to inspect the shelves, his curiosity piqued. He swept over each row of the shelves, looking closely, and caught a small hourglass that hung from a thin gold chain, untouched and unbroken.

“Hey, Lily,” he murmured, “look.” He gently placed the hourglass in his hands, showing Lily.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “That’s so cool. I thought they were all destroyed!”

“Wait, what are they though?” he questioned, confused. He didn’t recognize it at all. Was he supposed to?

"A time turner,” Lily said in awe, her voice a mere whisper. “They can go back in time. One turn equals one hour back, I think. The magnitude of far you go back can also be increased by the use of Phoenix tears.”

“Where did you learn this?” he asked.

Lily shrugged indifferently. “School.”

Al felt a twinge of jealousy, but pushed it back. Now wasn’t the time. “I don’t think we should—” A gust of wind swept from behind him, and he turned around sharply. As far as he was aware, they were the only two here. Right?

Writing it off as paranoia, he turned back to Lily. It was okay; there was nothing to be scared of. He took deep breaths, and then looked down to his hands. The time turner was still intact. Al went to put the time turner away. He blinked and then suddenly it was gone.

He panicked. “Lily, the time turner, where did it—”

Al heard the echo of footsteps running away, and then unmistakable sound of shattering glass.

For one second, it sounded as if nothing happened, the quiet the same as ever. But then: an explosion of light, and his body was attacked with the feeling of being pulled apart. It hurt like hell, more so than usual, but he still found the will to grasp for Lily. He caught her hand.

“Lily,” Al gasped, and in his blurry vision, he saw that her expression had morphed into one of fear and panic. She threw herself forward, and even in the consciousness he was quickly losing, he knew it was an idiotic action.

He didn’t see what happened next.


	2. ii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M A DUMB IDIOT THAT FORGETS TO UPDATE SHIT

_July 2, 2002_

Today was a day for rest and relaxation. Harry was certain that it was exactly what it was for. 

He had no prior auror related appointments—he had Minister Shacklebolt to thank for that. It seemed that these days, Harry had been handed mostly busy work.

Being an auror was exciting... for the first year or two. In his former years, it was mostly occupied by capturing run-away Death Eaters and either incarcerating them, making them serve their community, etc. depending on the infraction. Since then, nothing too drastic had happened, and a blanket of peace settled over the British Wizarding sphere. 

The blanket had fooled him the most today, of all days. It wasn’t a day where he felt like burrowing himself in his bed, only getting up to go to the bathroom, or to eat a bite of food. 

In fact, today, Molly had invited them all over for dinner, a rare day where almost everyone had off of work. Those kinds of days were hard to come by.

When Harry, Ron, and Hermione had arrived at the Burrow (with four year old Teddy in tow), it had been in a state of array, dishes floating themselves outside to where they couldn’t see, and the food was frantically making itself.

Well, it wasn’t necessarily _arriving_ , per se. They all practically lived at the Burrow, all three of them somehow deciding to make the Burrow their home. They just had been at Grimmauld Palace, the place they were meant to be living in, but instead had collectively said ‘nope’ after seeing the dust, and darkness, and the screaming portrait of Walburga Black and carved their own place out in the Burrow.

Anyways, Harry, being who he was, asked to help Molly, but in her haste she had waved him away, asking him to wait.

Frantic indeed.

Harry set down Teddy to where just-turned-two Victoire was with her mother and father, Fleur and Bill. He gave them a cursory smile (and a playful one to Teddy), and left to sit outside, where it there was more space and a lot less crowded. Ginny followed him out, having previously been talking to Bill.

Waiting patiently, unfortunately for Harry, was not one of his stronger qualities, so he took to bouncing his feet and tapping his fingers.

“Harry,” Ginny sighed, putting a hand over one of his, “stop.”

Harry smiled guiltily but continued tapping his fingers anyways, except at a much slower pace.

Realizing he couldn’t stop, Ginny asked, “Any new developments in the auror department?”

“No,” Harry answered, sighing, “it’s getting boring.  _Honestly_. It’s all paperwork these days, I  _hate_  it. At least you have a more interesting job, playing quidditch all day.”

“Yeah,” Ginny agreed, nodding.

Harry sent her a dirty look. “You’re supposed to disagree.”

She laughed. “Why? Playing quidditch is fun. But not so much when you don’t really get to play an actual game in front of, like, and actual audience. All that work, and it’s all for naught!”

Ginny went off on a tangent about the unfair treatment of reserves on quidditch teams, while Harry listened, humming and making noises of agreement every here and there to indicate he was in fact listening and not daydreaming.

Soon enough, dinner was set, and a veritable feast laid before the entire Weasley family, the food warm, aromatic, and just waiting to be eaten. 

Everyone murmured their thanks, including Harry, who had opted to say, “Thank you Mrs. Weasley.”

The Weasley in question perked up and told him, “Oh, just call me Molly!”

Harry smiled, albeit a little uncomfortably. “Okay, Mrs. Weasley.”

The table erupted in raucous laughter, Hermione stifling her snickers behind a hand, and Ron smiling rather fondly. The Weasleys’ good mood added to his own, and Harry’s smile grew to be genuine. 

Harry found conversation was not hard to hold today at all, a rare feat for him. Outside of Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, it was hard for him to hold interesting conversation apart from bland ones where he answered only in three to four word sentences. _Maybe_ it was possible to do it with the other members of the Weasley family.

And to be completely honest, he’d preferred it that way; the only people worth talking to were the Weasleys and his friends. Everyone else almost always wanted something from him. But today, there was no press, no adoring fans, and no people who wanted to thank him for his actions during the war (and truth be told, he hadn’t done much anyways).

The atmosphere almost got to him, in the end.

It was only stopped by the arrival of Minister Shacklebolt, the man himself who granted Harry a day off, who had flooed into the Weasleys’ home (after all, he had spoken about his whereabouts to him) in haste, with a grim expression to boot. 

On any normal day, Harry probably would have been somewhat excited, but today, he was just bitter.

The Minister had told him that there had been an accident in the Department of Mysteries, specifically the Time Chamber, where two people were injured critically. One of them had even gotten pieces shattered glass around their eyes.

But apparently the question of the hour was where these two mystery persons had come from, and whether they were a threat. 

Minister Shacklebolt explained to him that, “Perhaps you would recognize them. You were in the front lines for capturing rogue Death Eaters, after all.”

A spark of fear shot through him at that. He really didn’t know how he would handle it if they actually happened to be Death Eaters. He would do his best, of course, but he’d prefer for all of it to be behind him. 

Begrudgingly, Harry left, with Ron and Hermione tagging along, claiming themselves to be relevant to the situation at hand.

Shacklebolt flooed himself to St. Mungo’s, and the three followed suit. 

They walked through the corridors, all flaunting white sterile walls. People were scattered around, either waiting, or looking blankly at the walls.

Harry grimaced, somewhat sympathetic. Unpleasant memories ruined any positive experiences he might have had at St. Mungo’s. ( _Could there even be positive experiences?_ Harry thought idly.)

They arrived at the room in which they resided in, which was pretty far from the area of St. Mungo’s in which they flooed in. Perhaps it was because of the secrecy of the case at hand. 

Tentatively, Harry entered in after Ron and Hermione, and stopped at the side edge of the bed.

Harry analyzed them, really analyzed them, and well, to him, they didn’t look like Death Eaters. 

One of them looked gaunt, his black hair perpetually messed up, with black bags under his eyes and scars from the glass around his eyes. The scars were littered around his arms as well. He laid on the hospital bed, unmoving, his chest barely moving to breathe.

The other was in considerably better shape, but still had stringy red hair and pale skin.

Honestly, they just looked like kids who had gotten caught up in something they shouldn’t have. 

And really, how was he supposed to know if they were Death Eaters? Of course, one would immediately say, “Look at their arm,” and he had. There was nothing. Truthfully, some of the Death Eaters he had caught didn’t have anything on their arm, but still admitted to committing some horrible crimes against innocent muggles because they believed in Voldemort’s ideologies, though the idea of tying themselves to him repulsed them.

Harry settled on his conclusion, and almost immediately after, Shacklebolt asked, after a long silence, “Well?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said. “I don’t think they come from any prominent Death Eater families.”

Shacklebolt looked at Ron and Hermione, both of which had nodded their agreement to Harry.

“Why did you call me here?” Harry asked. “You know that some people we captured didn’t even have the mark.”

Shacklebolt stayed quiet, the silence a testament to the thought put into what he was about to say. Then: “They looked like you.”

“Sorry?” 

“They looked like you,” he said, louder. “He opened his eyes once, the young boy. I could recognize the eyes anywhere.”

Harry blinked, caught off guard.

“What?” Hermione said, a waver to her voice that gave away to her nervousness. “That’s not...” She fell silent. “You said they were found in the Time Chamber?”

“Yes.”

“And they had shards of glass in their eyes.”

“Only one of them.”

Hermione turned her head to the two people laying in the beds, and stared at them for an uncomfortably long time.

Seemingly, she reached to a conclusion at the same time Ron had. 

Harry, quite frankly, wasn’t getting it. What would the Time Chamber have to with anything?

Of course, he had been in there once, for the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. And there had been... time turners.

“So, I was thinking,” Hermione said, “and please hear me out, despite how ludicrous the theory is. Is it possible that they time traveled here?”

“I considered that,” the Minister assented. “But we did some tests, and determined that they were from the year 2024. But the tests must be lying, because it’s not possible to travel back a year, let alone nearly over two decades.”

“And what tests did you use?” Hermione asked. 

“Cell test. As time progresses, so does the evolution of cells. This was a recently developed test so it is subject to change.”

“I see. Did you know that the effect of the time turner can be enhanced by the use of Phoenix tears?”

“...No. Where did you learn this?” Minister Shacklebolt asked, wary as ever. He crossed his arms.  

“One of the books in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts,” Hermione breathed out. “I was curious.”

“So you think they time traveled?” questioned Shacklebolt, face morphing into due seriousness.

“Yes,” Hermione answered.

“But wait,” Harry protested, “from the scars, it doesn’t seem to be intentional. Hermione, would Phoenix tears break a time turner?”

“Not as far as I know,” she said, shaking her head.

“I was thinking that maybe they got here by accident?” Harry suggested. “Who in their right mind would  _break_  a time turner intentionally?”

Hermione considered this. “No one, I guess. But even if you don’t break it, there’s no way to get home, is there? You have to wait out the time you went back. Can time turners go back into the future? If you turned it the opposite of the way you did to go back, perhaps it’s possible?”

Harry shrugged, despondent. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes. We deal what we have on hand now.”

Shacklebolt, seemingly having heard enough, cut in. “In any case, we have to take care of them. Have the authorities question them and take no risks.”

Ron looked wary, and observed their two unwanted visitors. “Minister Shacklebolt, in all due respect, I think… I think it’s important to remember that they’re humans. I listened to you, and I feel as if you think that they’re automatically going to be criminals. What if they’re not?”

Shacklebolt emulated Harry, face worn from years of fighting two wars he wasn’t supposed to at all. “We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”


	3. iii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i updated at least within what could be considered a week.

The first thing Al registered when he woke up was that he was choking on something that was down his throat. He clawed at it, begging for it to be taken out, and eventually, one of the doctors—or healers, he wasn’t quite sure—came by and helped him out.

The second thing was the pain that ran laps throughout his body. It wasn’t usually like this for him, the pain usually fixated on a few specific spots. Not his whole body.

Al groaned.

“Hello,” the doctor who helped him said, “I’m Healer Greengrass. I’m your assigned healer, and I’ll be assisting you throughout your recovery. First thing: I’m going to need you to drink this potion.” She put a potion out in front of him, but that wasn’t exactly what Al was paying attention to.

Greengrass? Wasn’t that the last name of Scorpius Malfoy’s mother?

Al looked closer at his healer, and noticed that she looked younger—younger than she was supposed to. She didn’t look a day over twenty, which was unsettling—wasn’t Astoria Greengrass in her forties?

Healer Greengrass looked irked. “Sir?”

Al snapped out of his reverie, and took the potion from her hands. Staring at it for a moment, he steeled his resolve and downed it in one go.

And immediately after he spluttered as the potion was in bad taste  _and_  it had gone down the wrong pipe.

If this potion was supposed to help, he didn’t feel any better.

He spat the rest out, refusing to take any more of the vile tasting potion.

Eventually, Healer Greengrass tired of him, and simply asked to inject it into his bloodstream.

As if that wasn’t enough, Healer Greengrass decided to tend to his scars; the ones that hurt him the most to fix were the ones around his eyes. He couldn’t stop them from watering up.

Scorpius’ mum had never hit him as the talkative type; he’d met her once, and she acted warm at best, and cursed too much at worst. But she chattered on as she sutured, which Al could understand on a certain level. Being a healer had to mean that most of the patients were either unconscious on a table, or released before healers had a chance to talk to them. It could get suffocating, he supposed, when the only people you could talk to were your colleagues that were your acquaintances at best.

Healer Greengrass sighed, pausing her suturing. “I’m not sure how to tell you this. Sir, did you know that your aorta and some of its major branches are inflammated?”

“Al,” he said, smiling a bit. “You can call me Al.” He figured that was a harmless piece of information. It wasn’t even his full name, and there were many people bearing the name “Al” so it was inconspicuous.

“No last name?” Healer Greengrass asked, and Al smiled benignly.

He was well and truly fucked. He remembered vaguely about being in the ministry with his Dad and Lily—was it the Ministry? Yes, it had to have been. The... the Department of Mysteries? He was in the Space Chamber, and then... walked into another entrance with Lily to find a whole time turner. And that very same time turner shattering by some freak of nature.

And since it happened in the Department of Mysteries, all the relevant authorities must know. He was probably going to be questioned as soon as any immediate injuries were healed, regardless of how he felt physically or mentally, or despite how bad the day truly turned out to be.

Al cradled his head in his hands. He thought he would be the _last_ person on earth to be victim to a broken time turner; in fact, he always did think that it was going to James that would get caught up in something as _dumb_ as this. So, naturally it had to be him. And Lily too.

Lily.

“Can I sit up properly? It’s going to hurt my back if I stay like this for too long,” Al asked politely.

Healer Greengrass nodded, adjusting the bed. “And about your condition…”

“No, need to look so worried,” Al said. “I know already. And also, there was another person with me. Is she here?”

Lily better not be dead, or it was pretty much guaranteed that his mother would have his ass for it. If she was dead, he’d personally bring her back to life, and then kill her again. She was such a fucking idiot for following him, despite the impending damage. Or death. And _she_ was the Slytherin, no less.

“Yes,” she replied, “look to the bed over.”

And he did. He saw the tell-tale messy-as-a-rat’s-nest red hair, and the face that looked so much like his Granna’s when she was younger. She was definitely in much better shape than him, and didn’t look like she was critical condition, or about to die for one. That’s good. She also was bad actor, and he knew she was trying to act like she was asleep.

Al snorted, a smile gracing his face, and nodded to Healer Greengrass.

She looked uncomfortable again. “You’re in the ward specially meant for people that are currently wards of the Ministry. Otherwise known as: you and your friend are going to be questioned as soon as I’m done with these sutures.”

“I didn’t think it’d be so soon,” Al murmured. It was going to be fucking horrendous.

Healer Greengrass smiled apologetically. She shrugged helplessly. “They’re right outside. I can’t do anything about it. Luckily, Harry Potter is one of them, and he’s probably going to be pretty fair on you. We’ll talk about your treatment plan later on, if that’s alright with you?”

Al nodded, and Healer Greengrass finished off the tying the knot to the last suture, and left to call the aurors, unaware of the panicking mess she’d left behind. His Dad wasn’t an idiot. He would probably recognize who he was in minute maximum. Fuck.

Al sighed, and supposed it could have been worse. Better to pull the plaster off quickly, and deal with damage later. Right?

“Hello Al,” Kingsley Shacklebolt greeted genuine, “or at least that’s what I’m told you’re called.”

“You would be correct,” Al confirmed, turning his head to look at him better. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Former minister, currently retired. He remembered occasionally going to dinners hosted by the former minister and his wife with his family. For the most part, Al knew he was a fair and honest man who genuinely meant the best for the Wizarding community.

“Auror Potter will be questioning you, to know the basics of your situation, and to know how to help. We have a few theories, and we’d just like you to confirm them,” Shacklebolt explained.

Al stayed quiet, shifting his gaze to Auror Potter. His Dad didn’t look a day over twenty-two. That would mean it had only been at most four years after the war.

“Hello,” his Dad greeted, a smile plastered on his face. “I think it’d be better if we started right away. May I know your name?”

A harmless question, Al knew, but it almost immediately threw a grenade into his composure. He knew it would probably be for the best for the auror force to know his situation, but that didn’t ease any of his nerves. He’d never had to face aurors before, mostly because he deliberately made sure he kept out of their way.

“Um…” Al trailed off, his breathing going off by a bit. Strangely, he felt compelled to tell the truth, and so he did. “Albus. Albus Severus Potter.”

His Dad seemed caught off guard, as did the current Minister beside him.

“Do you know what date it is?” he asked, after regaining his cool. His eyes definitely seemed to still hold some doubt though. By the end of this interrogation, Al knew for certain it would be gone.

Al shook his head no. “Would you tell me?”

“July second, two thousand and two,” his Dad told him. “Would you mind telling me how you got here?”

“Time-turner,” Al told him, thinking. “We were in the Department of Mysteries, for a careers prospect tour kind of thing. And well, we, my sister and I, were in the Space Chamber. We accidentally walked into the next room, because we just thought it was just a continuation of the Space Chamber—turns out it wasn’t. We were about to go back out to where the adults were, but someone broke a time turner, and my sister and I ended up here.”

His Dad raised an eyebrow. “Someone?”

“Someone. I’m not protecting anybody, don’t worry, but they were invisible, so I couldn’t see their face,” Al explained.

And so it went. It seemed to Al as if questions were repeated multiple times, and it confused him enough that he was sure that his answers had changed at some point. Does he even know the true story at this point? He was also asked the somewhat awkward question of the whereabouts of his wand, to which he had to answer he didn’t have one at all. That set both Kingsley Shacklebolt and his Dad into an awkward, stifling silence, which was barely able to be moved on from.

Hey, he couldn’t exactly help his genetics nor how people chose to react to it. It wasn’t his problem.

There was also the fact that he was asked if he was a Death Eater, and every variation of it. Awkward. Having the last name ‘Potter’ and putting Death Eater in front of it was practically an oxymoron. Of course, he was diligent about warding away any worries they might have had. And also who his parents were, his uncles, his aunts—point was, the questioning was very thorough.

At the point in which his interrogation was over, Lily had decided to quit the ruse, and so the duo went along to questioning her side of the story.

Healer Greengrass took the chance to talk about his meds and what he’d need to continue his ‘normal’ life, citing that his condition took prerogative over the aurors’ questioning.

Al found that St. Mungo’s was actually quite caught up with the progress of muggle medicine, which was quite surprising considering that when he first went to the hospital for a diagnosis, they weren’t able to help him.

His parents had to take him to a muggle hospital. Was St. Mungo’s hiding something? Hm. Perhaps there was a conspiracy theory taking place here. Sounds like something Shane Dawson would do a video on.

Al snorted at the thought, and shook his head. He doesn’t even watch Shane Dawson, so what would it matter?

As soon as he had done so, his Dad and Kingsley Shacklebolt stood up to leave. Before Shacklebolt turned to disappear, he took care to tell them that their living arrangements would be confirmed the next morning.

Al took it to assume that he was staying here another night. Perfect. He’ll have the white walls, bland hospital food, and an irritable Lily to keep him company. And it was more than likely that his body won’t cooperate with him, and make him stay up into ungodly hours of the night.  

_Just_ perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> uh, okay, so. i did something new in here. if you see something that's off about al, it's because i wanted to write him as disabled. it's kinda subtle, but i wanted to make it seem like it's a normal part of his life, which it is. please give me tips on how to improve my portrayal. idk why, but i also know the specific autoimmune disease he has as well?


End file.
